Hold Up
by Suicidal Mickey Mouse
Summary: You can hold up a store, and you can hole up your emotions. It's amazing how often these two things can coincide.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: RENT and its characters do not belong to me.

Author's notes: Well, I'm sorry it took me so long to get this up, but it took me a while to get it to the point where I was happy with it. I'm pretty sure the basics of this plot are all pretty straightforward, but if you have any questions, you know who to run to.

"And you're going through our cupboards why?"

Mark turned around at his room mates voice. Roger was standing, in a pair of sweat pants, nothing else, as though he had just woken up. He most definitely had just woken up, Mark decided, knowing that Roger didn't really believe the day started before at least eleven. "We have some money left over from the last time Collins came." He paused going back to the bare cupboards. "I thought I'd get food."

"Oh." Roger just acknowledged the idea before sitting at the kitchen table, which of course, wasn't really a table, but was closer, than their previous attempt of a cardboard box had been.

"Do you need anything?"

"How about some of that ramen soup stuff?" The actually name was at a loss to Roger, but he knew that it was cheap, and tasted decent enough, and it was the fall so that meant that the loft would be getting cold again. Soup would be good.

Mark turned, putting a plastic bag on the table in front of Roger. It was filled with half a loaf of bread that was a myriad of colors. "Do you have any idea how much sodium is in those things?"

This was a typical movement that Mark would sometimes go through. Being healthy. It was completely lost on Roger. And most of the time Mark. "It can't be less healthy than this thing." He held up the loaf of moldy bread before tossing it into the trash.

"Yeah, I'll get some." Mark sighed, before starting to slip into his worn coat. "I'll be back in half and hour or something."

"Whatever."

* * *

Mark was staring at his hands. It was easy. His hands weren't doing anything that could be considered threatening. They weren't even moving, which was a bonus to his skull, throbbing due to the blow it had sustained when he had fainted. He had fainted when he had seen one of the three men, holding one of the three guns, that was being used to rob the store.

If that hadn't been bad enough for him, this had drawn attention to him, and when he came to, he was suddenly at the front of the store, a gun being pointed at him. Mark had listened to the three argue about shooting him (something that put him even further ill at ease) until one of the robbers, who Mark didn't know whether to thank or scream at, decided that if they used him to create a hostage situation, they could get more money out of the entire thing. This resulted in the robbers pacing for half an hour, waiting for a phone call, asking what their demands were. It was the store clerk who pointed out that if they wanted the police to ask them this, then the police would have to actually know that there was a hostage situation to begin with.

And this put Mark where he was now. Sitting on the floor of the mini-mart next to the cashier, staring at his hands, trying to will the situation away. Guns were never his strong suit. Any dangerous situation had never been his strong suit. He had been there for an hour and a half now. This allowed him to learn that his captors were Jack, Simon, and Logan, three brothers, that definitely had a few anger issues.

Simon, the one who's bright idea it had been to let the police become involved in the first place, was the one that was manning the phone. He wasn't cooperating with the police very well, blaming them for creating such a long wait, causing the wait for the demands to go on even further.

Logan was the one who had just wanted to shoot Mark. He seemed to be just as hot tempered as Simon, and was very fond of his gun, along with pointing it at anything that was annoying him. So far this had been Mark three times, something he wasn't looking forward to repeating anytime soon, another reason that his hands were such a good option to be looking at.

It was Jack, who was clearly the one unsure about the entire operation. He kept mostly to himself in his own corner.

It was when the phone rang that Mark involuntarily raised his head, to see Simon, not even moving to answer it. Three rings later, and the check out clerk spoke. "If you want your money you're going to have to talk to the police and tell them what you want." Simon just glared, prompting the cashier to try again. "Look, you did start this thing because you want money didn't you?"

"I want you to shut up." Simon started pacing again, running a hand through his hair.

"I'm just saying that--."

"Shut up!" As Simon turned and bellowed, the gun went off.

* * *

Mark's hands could feel the faint pulse coming from the body beneath him. The weak throb went in time with the stronger one in his head, that had yet to ebb away in the past hour. He could no longer bear to look at his hands. They were not pale, thin, and harmless anymore; they were now coated and slick with the crimson blood of the cashier. He couldn't remember the exact turn of events that had led to this (although he was awake his mind seemed to be drifting in and out of a conscious state) but he could ascertain that Simon had shot the man on the floor, and at some point he had been forced into the position of trying to keep the man alive. Given his nonexistent medical training, and lack of any sort of supplies, this consisted of Mark attempting to control the bleeding by holding an entire roll of paper towels to the wound. The roll was soaked about three quarters of the way through.

Through all of the pulsing coming from his hands and head, Mark could hear Jack talking to his brothers. "We can't let that guy die. We'll go to jail."

"If we don't come up with something soon we're going to go to jail any ways." Logan ran his free hand across his face. "We need to get out of here."

Mark couldn't agree more, though he didn't vocalize it. He had now been there for two and a half hours, and things weren't looking up.

Simon, who had been sitting on the counter since the shooting incident, looked down at his brother. "Well I'm not hearing any brilliant suggestions."

Logan turned on him. "You're the one who got us into this mess. If you had just let me shoot this guy--," He gestured to Mark, "The cops wouldn't be outside waiting to arrest us."

"We won't be in so much trouble if we let this guy live." Jack looked over to the wounded cashier, trying to reason with his brothers. "Can't we just let him get some help?"

"Shut up Jack!" Logan yelled quickly. "We let him get help they just send a cop in!"

After the short period of silence that followed, Simon spoke. "Jack's right. If we let him live they'll go easier on us."

Logan seemed to contemplate this for a moment. "Fine, call them up." As Simon went over the phone, he walked to Mark and grabbed his forearm roughly, pulling him away from the checkout clerk and into a standing position.

"What are you doing?" Jack asked a little nervously, watching as Mark's eyes went from being in a focused, but completely nervous, semi-calm state, to a wide and terrified one.

"Giving us a little insurance." Logan placed the gun against Mark's temple, using his other arm to hold Mark against his body in a tight hold. "You tell those cops that if they try anything funny with that paramedic then this one gets the same treatment as our other friend."

* * *

Roger glanced up at the only working clock in the apartment. It was now 4:27 (PM Eastern Standard Time, he added subconsciously) which meant that Mark should have been home two hours and 37 minutes ago. Not that he was counting or anything. If anyone had asked him, he would have said that his frequent checking of the clock was to make sure that his AZT beeper wasn't off, or something of the like.

But nobody was asking, because nobody was in the loft besides Roger, the fact that was bothering him.

For the first hour in which Mark hadn't shown up, he had been able to convince himself that Mark had seen something that he wanted to film, and had gotten caught up in it. He wasn't that worried in the first hour. Then he noticed that Mark's camera was sitting on the kitchen table.

The next forty five minutes, Roger reduced his worry with the thought that Mark had probably just decided to go and visit Maureen and Joanne, on a spur of the moment thing. But this idea ended when he remembered that they already had plans to meet with Joanne and Maureen that night. Mark wouldn't want to spend that much quality time with them.

For the rest of the time, Roger had been unable to find a reasonable explanation for the nonexistent reappearance of his roommate. He tried to take his mind off of it, but slowly found himself getting distracted from every attempt, until he was reduced to sitting on the couch, looking from the wall, to the clock, to the door.

He was annoying himself, because he didn't know why he was worrying. Mark was an adult, who could do what he wanted. Maybe he was worried because Mark had said half an hour, and Mark was never late for anything, or maybe it was because of all the time that Mark had spent worrying over him. Or maybe it was the fact that Roger had the unrelenting fear that came with knowing the type of people that lived in this neighborhood. It didn't matter. The fact was, Roger was worried.

He looked at the clock. 4:31. Mark should have been home two hours and 41 minutes ago. He sighed. "Where the hell are you Mark?"

OK, that's that. I might be able to post more but, I'm not sure. It depends how long it takes me to write an essay on my opinion on who was right in Antigone.

Auxiliary Author's Notes: At this point in time this fic is not going to be slash. Roger's worry is like that of someone worrying about a family member, spawned a bit by other things mentioned above in the story.

Thoughts?


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: RENT and it's characters do not belong to me.

Author's notes: Thank you for all the reviews and feedback, it really helps me improve my work and get more out to you.

* * *

Roger's head jerked up as the loft door slid open. In came Mark, walking in a sort of numb manner. The first thing Roger noticed was his face, one that was tired, and seemingly tense. The second thing he noticed were the crimson stains that were on his clothes, the drying flakes on his hands, the splatter across his face and glasses. It caused Roger to spring to his feet. "What the hell happened to you?" The question only came out as semi-accusatory, something that he was proud of. Normally he would have been quite angry at the way it appeared that Mark wasn't planning on saying anything about his absence. Mark didn't answer, so Roger took a step forward. "Are you hurt?" This question was answered with a slow and nearly tortured shake of Mark's head. "Where have you been?"

"There was a robbery." Mark suddenly found his voice. It came on quietly to the point where Roger was almost straining to hear it.

"What?"

"At the store…these three guys with guns..."

Mark trailed off, and Roger hurried forward, getting the feeling that his friend wasn't at his strongest at the moment. This was confirmed when Mark didn't fight him as he grabbed his elbow and brought him to sit in the kitchen. "They robbed the store?" He knew it was repetitive to say this, but Mark wasn't saying much to give him more to say.

"They tried." Mark's voice got a bit stronger, and it seemed that coherent thoughts were suddenly upon him. "They kept me in the store for three hours." He rounded up a little just to make it all easier. Besides, to him it had felt like forever, so adding a few minutes didn't really change much.

"Did they hurt you?" Roger sat in front of him, his eyes traveling back to all of the blood on his friend. He couldn't see any injuries, but he also couldn't see Mark going anywhere near blood. He hated blood.

He shook his head. "Just a couple of bruises." Mark didn't leave much time for Roger to respond. "They weren't very good at the whole thing…I think they got all of their experience from watching those lame movies." Mark made a very weak joke, as though he realized that he wasn't going to make much ground in getting through talking about it in his current state.

Yet for Roger it was still like pulling teeth to get the information out of Mark. "So the police got you out or…"

"It was the guys' own stupid mistake. They shot the other man who was in their with me, and decided to get him help. They put a gun to my head to try and make sure the police didn't try anything, but he got in front of the door, at this angle, and they shot him." Mark relayed this news mechanically. It was as though as time went on he became less and less like Mark. "After that I guess it was pretty easy to get the other two, and I talked to the police, and here I am."

For Roger it was almost hard to believe that Mark was in a state of almost calm about the whole thing. Granted Mark had always been good at keeping his head, most of the time, but even so Roger had to wonder a little. He knew that if he had just been held hostage, he would probably be at least a little freaked, not that he would admit it. Still, it was almost weird for Mark, the one who Roger had always seen as his naïve little brother, to be handling this so well, or at the very least recovering so quickly.

"So I should call the girls." Roger began, standing and starting towards the phone. "I'll reschedule our little dinner party."

"No don't bother." Mark started to stand as well. "I'm fine."

Roger looked him over once again, his eyes only stopping on the blood for a moment. Despite his vocalizations and assurances, Mark didn't look fine. "Are you sure? Because I'm sure it'd be fine with them and it's not like we were looking forward to meeting them anyways."

"Yes I'm sure. I'm fine." Mark repeated his earlier sentiment. "I just need to clean up a little." He glanced down at the hands that were an almost rusty color from the blood. He didn't wait for Roger to respond, he just went to his room and grabbed some new clothes.

Afterwards he went into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. It was when the door was tightly closed, and the lock bolted, that his hands started to shake, in a manner that was almost violent. His new clothes dropped to the cracked tile floor.

Along with his hands came the rest of him, although less tremulous. He stumbled over to the bathtub, not even bothering with checking the shower curtain, before controlling his hands enough to turn the water on. Then he half stepped in, half fell, his legs giving out beneath him as cold water started beating on his skin and through his clothes

The drying blood started to flow off of him in crimson rivers, and before he knew it he was just sitting in the tub, soaked to the bone in cold water, shaking. And before he knew it, he just started to sob.

He was moving to put his head in his hands when he saw it. More blood. Mark had to get it off. With his vision quite seriously blurred, from tears, and water, he reached blindly for the soap, fumbling with it for a few moments before he finally was able to start scrubbing furiously at his hands.

* * *

Roger glanced over at Mark from across the table at The Life Café. His friend seemed to have made an amazingly fast recovery. If he hadn't known, he wouldn't have said that anything had happened to Mark at all that day. There was a small bruise on his forehead, but nothing else.

When he had come out of the bathroom, Mark had seemed even further composed. His hands were a little red, but nothing else. It was as though Mark had come out of the bathroom on a different day where nothing bad had happened.

Currently Maureen was fawning over "her Marky". She had forced the entire story out of him when she had seen the bruise. And ever since then she had been hanging on him. Joanne had been concerned, but a little disconcerted at the behavior. Mark was trying his best to get the attention off of himself. So far the combined efforts of himself and Joanne weren't getting anywhere.

Mark's eyes met with Roger's, and Roger caught the hint of "help me desperation" that he had seen so often when Maureen and Angel had cornered Mark. Roger just laughed at his friends predicament, and took a sip of his beer, starting to forget why he had been worried in the first place. Everything seemed to be normal with Mark.

This was the way things were supposed to be.

* * *

Mark went straight to his room after he and Roger got back to the loft after their outing with Joanne and Maureen. He had told the guitarist that he was tired, not that he thought he could sleep. He wasn't even really tired. It was just that going to bed was a plausible excuse after such a day, and Mark didn't feel like hanging out with Roger, or anyone else for that matter.

He closed his door, and his stomach growled a little, reminding him how he hadn't actually eaten anything since that morning. This technically wasn't true. He had eaten at the Café. It just so happened that had to throw up just moments after he finished it. Thankfully enough, nobody had really questioned the trip to the bathroom, or noticed for that matter.

After the door, Mark tried to avoid touching anything. In all honesty it hurt. He had scrubbed his hands raw in the shower earlier, in an attempt to really get the blood off of them. He thought that he had finally gotten it, by the time that he was out of the shower, but after he had thrown up at the Life, he started to notice that it was still on his hands, so he scrubbed some more.

This left him hungry with hands that he didn't want to move. He didn't even want to think about what had happened in the shower, but just the thought of his hands seemed to send him back.

With the feelings resurfacing his hands started to quake again and he went onto his bed, face down, feelings of sudden fear and desperation hitting him. Mark pulled the pillow to his face, trying his very best not to scream.

* * *

There is that chapter. Next will be up soon as long as school doesn't get in the way.

Thoughts?


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: RENT and its characters do not belong to me.

Author's notes: Thank you reviewers, you made me very happy and encouraged me to write more.

For the purposes of this story, they aren't close friends or anything, but Benny is on speaking terms with Mark and Roger.

* * *

Mark was sitting in the kitchen reading an old copy of the Village Voice when Roger came out of his room in the mid-morning. "Hey." He greeted quietly.

Roger looked over, and gave Mark the once over. "You look like shit."

"Gee Roger, you always know what to say to make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside." Mark made the sarcastic comment to make it appear as though Roger's words had deeply offended him. Both men knew that this wasn't true, but went along, as was the pattern. Mark knew that Roger was probably right. He hadn't slept at all last night, and when ever he didn't sleep he always ended up with the tired circles under his eyes. Combining this with his pale complexion and lack of shaving in three days just did wonders for his appearance.

"Whatever." Roger opened the fridge, glancing in and temporarily forgetting that they hadn't ended up getting their food yesterday as planned. He turned back. "You didn't sleep did you?" It wasn't like he didn't totally care. It was just that sometimes he couldn't be bothered, and this wasn't one of those times. Mark shrugged. "You doing OK?"

Mark closed the paper and stood. "I'm fine. I'm going to go film."

"Someone should probably go to the store today." Roger remarked grabbing the paper and sitting where Mark had been.

"Right." Mark reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a wad of crumpled bills. "Here. Knock yourself out. I'll be back later." He grabbed his camera and left without waiting for acknowledgment.

Roger sighed. Apparently today wasn't the day that he should bother to care. Mark obviously didn't want to talk about what had happened or the fact that he clearly didn't want to go back inside another store. Roger knew he wouldn't be able to get Mark to talk about it either. So the only option, was to not be bothered to care.

* * *

Three nights later, Mark knew he wasn't looking any better. He still hadn't been able to sleep, and was living off of Roger's coffee, which he couldn't remember ever doing before this incident. On the bright side he had shaven, and the bruise was on his forehead was fading. On the other hand his skin was even paler, and the circle's around his eyes were even darker, with his eye's quite bloodshot, and his voice was going gravelly from the lack of rest.

He knew the weight loss was setting in. Mark couldn't bring himself to do anything about it. Somehow eating just hadn't been, and wasn't, an option. Every time he tried it just came back up.

Mark's hands were still red and raw, and hurt to touch anything, because whenever he looked down at them, he could still see all the blood from the cashier. Mark knew that this probably wasn't exactly normal…but he didn't exactly want to go around talking about how insane he thought that he was going.

So he didn't. Instead of talking to someone about every thought that was going through his head causing all of his new idiosyncrasies, he would just assure everyone that he was fine when they asked. And as far as he could tell, they were believing it, leaving him to contemplate everything on his own.

And that was when Benny showed up. Roger let him into the apartment while Mark sat at the kitchen table. Both Benny and Roger glanced around awkwardly around for a moment. "So…what are you doing here?" Roger finally asked. "We paid the rent."

"I know. Allison and I had a bit of a fight." Benny tucked his hands into his pockets.

Roger smirked a little. "Westport a little unpleasant is it?"

"Shut up." Benny snapped. "I just need a place to crash tonight so she calms down."

"Whatever." Roger shook his head throwing his hands in the air. "If Mark doesn't care than the couch is yours."

Both looked over to Mark, who was watching them. "Do what you want." His voice was pretty hoarse from lack of use. That was another thing that he hadn't been doing much of lately. Talking. If he wasn't assuring Roger that he was fine there wasn't much else for him to say. "I'm going to go to bed." They acknowledged him and watched as he went into his room.

It was seconds after the door closed that Benny turned to face Roger. "That boy looks like shit."

"God Benny." Roger ran a hand through his hair in an annoyed manner.

Benny gave him a look. "Oh like you haven't noticed."

"No. I have noticed. That's the problem." Roger sat down at the table, his temper leaving a bit.

Benny took a seat next to him. "What's going on with him?"

Roger stopped to think for a moment. He realized that Benny wouldn't know what had happened. "A couple days ago he got caught up in this convenience store robbery. There was a hostage situation. He hasn't said much about it, except that he's fine."

"And you believed him?" Benny scoffed a little.

"Well I don't exactly have much of a choice." Roger shot back quickly. He was going to go on, but he stopped and thought better of it.

Benny rolled his eyes. "You always sucked at the whole taking care of someone thing."

"You can't just take care of Mark, Benny."

"Well if he's not gonna do it himself you have to." He glanced around, lowering his voice a bit more, as though to make sure Mark wouldn't be able to hear him. "Look whatever happened when he was a hostage clearly affected him."

"No shit."

"Look, all I'm saying is that I'm looking at him and he's starting to look like you did."

Roger didn't say anything for a moment. It wasn't that he wasn't as concerned as Benny. But he hadn't found a way to get Mark to actually listen without freaking him out. Until then he knew it was best to just leave him alone. "You have to let things with Mark run their course."

"If you let this thing run much longer the results won't be good."

* * *

Roger awoke to voices. "What's this?" It was Mark.

"I made breakfast." The second was Benny.

Mark spoke again. "Why?"

"I thought you could use some real food." Roger could see Benny shrugging. "Eat up."

Roger sat up stood, still hearing the conversation. "I'm not that hungry."

"Mark shouldn't you eat something?"

"You can't eat when you're not hungry."

"You can't live if you don't eat."

Roger started out of the room, looking around to see where Mark was pushing a plate of what looked to be eggs back towards Benny. "Benny I don't want any breakfast. Just give it to Roger or something."

"I made a separate plate for Roger." Benny shoved the plate to Mark. "Now eat."

"I don't want to eat it."

Roger tried to interrupt. "Uh guys?" They ignored him.

Benny glared. " Mark you have to eat. If you don't start eating now then I'll---."

"I am not a child!" Mark cut him off angrily.

"Guys!" Roger tried again a little bit louder.

Benny threw something right back. "Well you're sure taking care of your self like one. Mark I don't know what the hell you think you're doing, but if you think I'm just gonna stand back and watch you destroy yourself then—."

And he was cut off again. "You're never around and you have the nerve to tell me what to do! You have no idea what is going on with me!" Mark turned turning away from Benny as though he was leaving.

"Mark…" Roger tried to stop him, but Mark blew right past him out the door. Roger, was only just awake, but enough so to be angry at Benny. "Great job."

"I was trying to help." Benny justified.

"I told you to leave it alone." Roger grabbed his jacket. "I'm going to go after him. Get out of here. Allison's probably waiting for you."

Benny rolled his eyes a little managing to find the small amount of humor in the situation. "You're in your pajamas."

"At this point I don't really care." Roger slipped into the coat. "Just get back to Westport. We'll call you when we need to be bugged about money again." He left the apartment quickly starting outside to find his roommate.

* * *

More to come soon. Tell me what you think. 


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: RENT and its characters do not belong to me.

Author's notes: Thank you reviewers.

BTW, completely lied earlier. I can't resist the slash. So it's coming. Hints in this chapter.

_Italics are flashbacks.

* * *

_

Roger walked briskly along the streets of New York one week after the fiasco with Benny. In a way this walk reminded him of the one where he had been looking for Mark, except this time he wasn't looking for Mark. He knew where Mark was. He had found him not twenty minutes after leaving the apartment, and then he had tried to talk with him. OK…so that hadn't gone so well.

"_Mark! Hey Mark wait up!" Roger jogged until he was next to his retreating roommate. Mark's feet stopped moving and Roger spoke. "What was that all about?"_

"_Nothing." Mark shoved his hands into his pockets, looking down at his feet._

_Roger shook his head, switching into caring mode. "That wasn't nothing Mark. You're upset about something."_

"_Maybe I'm upset about the fact that you guys won't leave me alone." Mark pointed out a little testily. "What part of 'I'm fine' don't you people get?"_

"_Maybe the part where you say you're fine but you're clearly not." Roger shot back, exasperated._

"_How am I not fine?" Mark knew that this probably wasn't his strongest argument. He knew that he wasn't fine. But that didn't change the fact that he was now upset, verging on angry, and thinking wasn't his strong suit now._

"_You're not sleeping…or talking…and you won't touch anything because your hands hurt too much from whatever it is you're doing to them." Roger watched Mark's eyes falter in surprise. "You didn't think I noticed that you weren't going around with your third eye?"_

_Mark clenched his jaw tightly. "I'm fine."_

"_You've been drinking coffee Mark."_

"_So?"_

"_So you hate coffee."_

"_I do not hate--."_

"_I was on smack and you lectured me on the evils of coffee."_

"_That's because every time that I brought up the drugs you just walked out!"_

_Roger ran a hand through his hair. "Mark, can't you just admit that you need some help?"_

"_Oh and you're one to talk about admitting things!"_

"_We aren't talking about me Mark!"_

"_Why not? You're here aren't you?"_

"_Because I'm not the one who's hurting himself by refusing to talk about what happened!"_

"_You don't know what happened!"_

"_That's because you won't talk about it! I am so sick of all this shit Mark! You think you can't talk about your problems because we're all sick and we're all gonna die! That's not an excuse to avoid talking about yourself!" Roger was officially yelling now. They were gaining glances from the people on the street, but no one was stopping to watch._

"_Maybe my so called problems aren't so big!"_

"_The fact that we're sick isn't going to just go away. We've dealt with it. Move on! Your problems, and you have them Mark, aren't just something that you can blow off! I think you're the one who told me that."_

"_They are my problems to blow off!"_

"_Not if I have to watch the affects of what it does to you!"_

"_Then don't watch. Leave! It worked before when your friends had problems didn't it?"_

"_I'm not leaving! I jus don't want to see you destroy yourself!"_

"_Then I'll make it easy for you. I'll leave!" Mark turned and started walking away. He didn't really know what he was doing. He was just so mad. He didn't even know what he was mad about, but there was something about the two fights that made him furious. _

"_Mark!" Roger called weakly starting after him._

Roger knocked on the door of the apartment, waiting a few seconds before knocking again. He was very impatient when there was no answer, continuing to knock until he heard a shout from inside. "All right, hold on a second! Smoke a joint or something and relax a little will you!"

The door opened, and Collins stood in front of him. The first thing Collins did was sigh. "What are you doing here Roger?"

"I come across the city and that's all you have to say to me?" Roger looked at him quickly, hoping to gain some sort of sympathy with his friend.

Collins just gave him a look. "You didn't come across the city to see me. You came to see Mark. And Mark doesn't want to see you."

"How do you know unless you ask him?" Roger challenged, putting his hand on the doorframe.

"He's really mad at you, and---."

"Have you even told him that I called?" Roger cut him off. "That I've been trying to apologize all week?"

"He's heard every message you left." Collins informed. "He doesn't want to talk to you Roger. He's really hurt."

"It's been a week. I think that's enough time to---…"

"To what!" Collins stepped out into the hall closing the door behind him while he interrupted harshly. "To make up for seven years?"

"Seven years of what?"

"Of a one sided relationship."

Roger faltered. "What?" He asked quietly.

"Why exactly is it that you think Mark sticks around? You and I both know that he has potential…That he could send his documentary to any producer and get a great career going."

"Where is this going Tom?" Roger was more subdued now; he would always call Collins Tom when he was confused and upset. It was the only time that anybody did.

Collins took a breath, as though thinking of the best way to go about saying something. "Mark hasn't stayed here because he can't go places. He's stayed because he wants to make sure you're taken care of."

"Why does he care? I don't understand."

"Mark loves you Roger…Now whether it's boyfriend love or brotherly love, I don't know, but he loves you, and he doesn't want to see you alone. He has been there for you in the seven years that you've known him and cared for you every step of the way. And from what I can tell…this robbery experience made him realize that in the seven years you haven't really cared back."

Roger's frown deepened. "Of course I've cared. That doesn't even begin to make sense."

"Does it? Before ten days ago when's the last time you can remember talking about what was going on with him, and how he was doing?" Roger didn't answer. "That's what I thought. Mark is having a hard time dealing with what happened in that store, and it doesn't help him that you didn't ease into the whole caring thing. You just started when his emotions were all out of joint. He needs a few more days."

"Fine. I'll just…" Roger railed off, and it seemed to hit him what Collins had said. After a few moments of silence, where it started to sink in he spoke again. "Is he getting better? Taking care of himself? I mean is he eating, and sleeping or what?"

Collins hesitated. "He's eating, and having nightmares. But he's doing better than when he showed up last week. Look, we were talking…I should probably get back…"

"Yeah…" Roger nodded. "I'll go and I guess I'll come back in a couple--

The door opened cutting him off. Mark stood in the doorway. "Roger, could we talk?"

* * *

I think I'll just leave it at that. Thoughts? 


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: RENT and its characters do not belong to me.

Author's Notes: Thank you reviewers! I'm very glad that you like the story so far. OK, so no real slash in this chapter just a few more hint type things, and a lot of explanation about what has been going on with Mark. It's a little on the short side, but I really wanted to end it where I did.

* * *

Collins had muttered something about going to the campus early for his next class before leaving the two alone. Roger was lead into the apartment by a quiet Mark, and they sat on two chairs.

The first thing that Roger noticed was the stark, white, gauze wrapped around Mark's hands. This left him curious about how far Mark's hand problem had gotten, and furthermore, what Mark's hand problem was. Then he noticed the way that Mark's eyes were lighter. More specifically the dark circles were fading. As well as this, the gauntness was disappearing. Overall, Mark looked half-normal. Finally he broke the silence. "I'm--."

"Sorry." Mark cut him off. "I know. I heard all your messages." He paused. "I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have been mad at you for caring. I was just…" He trailed off looking away. After a moment he looked back. "I have post traumatic stress. Collins made me go to this doctor at his clinic. According to him the trauma from the hold up combined with my everyday stress levels caused me to have a sort of mini-breakdown." Mark took another deep breath. "I knew you were right, but all this…my brain needed some selfish time…if that makes sense." It was a speech that seemed to come out mechanically. It was almost rehearsed, as though Mark had been practicing for a while about what he would say.

"Yeah, it makes sense." Roger nodded, looking over. He had been looking at his hands while Mark talked. It had always been easier for him to listen to someone if he wasn't watching them. "We both know I've had those selfish moments…" They both shared a short, uncomfortable laugh. "So, uh, what happened to your hands?"

Mark looked down at the bandages on his hands. "That…would be why Collins made me go to the clinic."

"That's very informative." Roger commented dryly.

"He found me trying to peel the skin off my hands." The words came out quickly and bluntly, shocking Roger a little.

"What?"

Mark's cheeks tinged pink. "I kept seeing blood on them…and I really wanted it off."

This almost confused Roger more, but he vaguely remembered the way Mark came home from the store with something on his hands. That must have been it. "Mark, what happened at that store?" He asked quietly, thinking that maybe a bit more clarification would help his understanding of all that was going on.

"Well, guns were pointed at me a lot, and they talked about killing me, and then they decided to just hold me, and the cashier hostage, and then they shot the cashier, and made me try and keep him alive…which didn't really work since he's dead now. Then they decided to let a paramedic in to try and help, so that's when they put the gun to my head, to make sure the police didn't try anything, and the paramedic needed help getting the cashier out, so the guy holding the go to my head made me help, but he was dumb enough to go near the door with me, and the police shot him. That's basically it."

"Oh." Roger didn't say much. There wasn't anything that he could think to say that wouldn't be pointless.

"Yeah." Mark's voice was somewhat pained and he looked away again.

"I'm sorry for making you talk about it." Roger apologized. Everything was still rather awkward, despite the conversation. They didn't seem to be covering much ground.

"No." Mark shook his head. "The doctor said that I should be talking about it. You're actually helping me."

"I'm helping you?" Roger smirked a little. "That's a switch."

"I guess." This put the two back into the silence.

Roger kept being the one to break these periods, a task that was new to him; Mark was normally the one who was forcing conversation. "What were you, uh…thinking about? When you were in the store?" Mark didn't respond and Roger hesitated a little. What was it that mark had always told him when they talked about the past? "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want." He paused. "I was just curious."

"No, it's…" Mark's hand went up to his ear as though he were going to scratch behind it, and then froze as he realized he wouldn't really be able scratch. The hand was lowered. "It's fine. I don't really remember everything about it, but I can remember thinking about not bringing your soup stuff home, and I can remember thinking that I should have reminded you about your AZT…and I can sort of remember thinking that I would be seeing Angel when the police shot that guy, because I thought it was him shooting me…" Mark trailed off, his cheeks tingeing pink once more. "And I remember wishing that I had said a real goodbye."

This time it took Roger a longer time to think of something to say. His thoughts went to what Collins had said out in the hall. He wanted to bring it up, but had to find the right way to do so. "What would have been a real goodbye?"

"I don't know." Mark shrugged. "Something more than 'I'll be back in half an hour or something.'"

And now wasn't the time for Roger to learn more about what Collins had spoken of. He was left again to think. But thinking…thinking was turning out to be harder than he thought it would have been. "So, you gonna come back to the loft now?" Maybe it wasn't the most tactful approach at the most opportune time, but for Roger it felt right.

"Yeah, I am." It took Mark a moment to confirm the answer, but he did.

"Great so…"

"I'll get my stuff together."

* * *

Mark put the worn duffle bag on ground next to his feet. It hadn't taken him long to get together the items that Collins had originally picked up from the loft when Mark had shown up at his door. As he released the handle he felt a sting on his hands. Glancing down, he saw a crimson stain starting to come through the white of the bandage. "Shit." He muttered.

"What is it?" Roger looked over as he brought Mark's camera from what had been Mark's temporary room.

"I need to change the bandages." He started toward the bathroom, where the first aid kit would be. "I'll be right back."

Roger put the camera on top of Mark's bag, and started after him. "Here let me help."

Mark was gingerly pulling the kit down from a shelf. "You don't have to--."

Roger took the kit out of his hands and cut Mark off. "It'll take you forever to do it yourself." He sat on the edge of the bathtub, as Mark did the same. "What exactly do you need?"

"These need to come off…" Mark started to undo one bandage, unsuccessfully. "And then there's this antibacterial cream stuff that needs to go on my hands, and then I need new bandages, to keep them protected."

Roger didn't say anything as he slowly unwrapped one hand, and then the other. He looked over Mark's hands, assessing the damage. Both were red and raw, with scraped areas; some of the scrapes were scabbing over and some of them were bleeding. "Shit Mark, how did you manage this?"

Mark blushed yet again. "I was just scrubbing with my hands."

"Oh." Roger searched the kit until he came upon the cream, and started unscrewing the cap. "Tell me if I'm hurting you, OK?" Mark nodded, and Roger started applying the cream, squeezing some out onto his finger, and gently placing it on the scrapes, not bothering to rub it in. After he had covered both hands, he wiped his fingers off on his jeans, and grabbed the roll of gauze, first gently wrapping it around Mark's right hand, and then his left. The entire time they both remained silent except for a few sharp inhales on Mark's part. "Is that it?"

"Yeah…Thanks."

"No prob. Nurse Roger is at your service."

Mark laughed a little, and gave Roger the first real smile of the visit. "Hey, Rog, let's go home."

* * *

Auxilary Author's Notes: I am fully aware of everything Mark and Roger just did, and or what they might not have done. Every action had a purpose.

I'll try to get two more chapters up this weekend since I will have a very hard time updating next week. It's Hell Week for the Wizard of Oz production I'm in and then I have to do four shows, which leaves me very little time for writing.

In any case I'll get what I can up for you.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: RENT and its characters do not belong to me.

Author's notes: More as promised. Thank you reviewers.

Thanks to everyone who wished me luck on my show. It went really well, and thankfully, we did find a way to get the silver make-up off of me.

And thanks to anyone who has actually stuck with this story through the hiatus. It took me really long to get this out and for that I apologize profusely.

* * *

Mark exited his room when he heard the angry pounding on the guitar in the middle of the night. He had been back in the loft for a month, and things were partially looking up. His hands were healed, he found himself able to eat, and in the majority of the time he was finding himself sleeping through most of the night. Except for now of course. Now he had woken up from a nightmare, and had been planning on just sitting in his room, until he heard the loud playing of a guitar, rather badly.

So Mark left the room, and found Roger sitting on his floor, with his guitar in hand, plucking at the strings roughly. "So are you playing for any particular reason or is this midnight concert just for my sheer pleasure and enjoyment?" Mark interrupted the playing as he leaned against the door frame.

Roger stopped playing briefly, but didn't look over. "I need to write a song." He started to play again, random chords in the hopes that they might start blending together.

"Now?" Mark questioned incredulously.

"I need to write a song." He repeated.

"And this inspiration struck in the middle of the night? Thanks, 'cause my ears were really starting to miss--."

"I don't have inspiration." Roger interrupted. "I just need to write a song. I need to leave something behind."

Mark's annoyance suddenly faded, and he entered the room not stopping until he sat next to Roger. "What about 'Your Eyes'?"

"That's not my best…I can write better. I don't want to be remembered by that song…" He leaned over to his notebook and started to scratch something onto it with his pen, but abruptly stopped. "I got a letter from Mimi. She says that she's going to stay with her parents." Mark didn't know what to say exactly, because Roger wasn't very specific. "She broke up with me."

"She broke up with you." Mark repeated the information softly. It was suddenly hitting him that this wasn't just one of Roger's moods. This was something brought on by more, an actual upsetting event.

Roger looked over. "In a fucking letter." His eyes traveled back to the guitar, but he didn't play. "I just…have to write something that's not about her."

For a moment he didn't say anything. There wasn't much to say, that he could say, that would make Roger easier to talk to, or make him feel better. Finally he just decided to ask. It would all come out in the end. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No." Roger answered stubbornly, and there was a short silence. "How did she just write it in a letter like that? I thought that…she got off smack for me…I thought that I meant something, couldn't she at least have picked up the phone?"

"So she could leave you a message? We don't answer the phone Roger."

"It still would have been more personal than a fucking letter."

Mark sighed. He hadn't been Roger's quote unquote therapist for awhile. He had forgotten how awkward it could be; he had forgotten how hard it could be getting through to Roger. What he hadn't forgotten was the way you had to be with Roger to get anywhere. "Here's the deal. This is something I realized a while ago that it's time I let you in on. Women suck."

"What?"

"As a general rule, all women do is screw with us." Mark laughed a little at Roger's reaction. But it was only a little, because Mark knew the truth. "Women suck. Take Maureen for example…she started out nice, and lulled me in to being thoroughly obsessed with her, and then she cheated and figured out she was in love with a woman." He looked over at Roger, who still seemed a little lost. "And think about how many girlfriends you've had that have just left you for absolutely no reason."

"Mary, Lucy, Katie, Becca…"Roger started listing them, but stopped realizing how long the list would be. "At least they all had the decency to talk to me about it…Mimi just left."

"Well women suck. Mimi is a woman, therefore, Mimi sucks." Roger laughed now, and Mark smiled at this mild success, but let it be silent for a moment. " 'You're Eyes' doesn't have to be about her."

"But it is."

"Only a couple of us know that."

"So I just don't tell anyone else?"

"I don't get why you have to…I don't explain my screenplays do I?"

"Actually…" Roger trailed off thinking back at the many long winded talks Mark had given him about the inspiration, but decided not to say anything. "I guess you're right. But I still don't want to just leave it. I can write better, I will write better."

"I think writing more might be good for you." Mark said this tentatively because that was a little bit like giving advice, which Roger didn't always like. "And I think you can write better if you want to."

"I'm going to."

"Good. But do you think it can wait until morning?"

"Uh, yeah." Roger gave him a little bit of a tentative, apologetic smile. Mark stood to leave, and but Roger spoke again stopping him. "Mark, why are you always making me talk?"

Mark turned back around, nearly faltering, but only slightly. "Because…if you didn't talk about what was bothering you than you would explode." It was the honesty that hit Roger, and didn't make him angry at the insinuations.

"So why don't you ever need to talk?"

"Because…I'm me."

* * *

The truth was that Mark lied to Roger. He was musing over this fact all during the next morning. He had lied when talking to Roger about the Mimi breakup. He hadn't lied about women sucking. That was completely true. If he had any doubts about that one Mimi had proven it through the breakup.

Mark also hadn't lied about Roger being able to write better songs. It was fully within his capabilities, and Mark knew that. Mark wanted Roger to write better songs. When he wrote the good songs he was happy.

And he hadn't made up the way that Roger would be in trouble if he didn't talk. That existed in a big way. But, Mark had lied to Roger just the same.

He realized it even more as he sat down on a cheap, old, couch, folding his hands nervously in his lap. Because if he had been telling the truth last night, then he wouldn't be sitting there now.

"Good morning, Mr. Cohen." There was a brief pause under the silence when Mark didn't respond to the smooth and low voice. "It says here in your file that you're here under the recommendation of a doctor at the free clinic we work with. Is there any place in particular that you would like to start?"

"I…uh…" Mark pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "I, uh, don't like to talk to people. About what bothers me."

"Could you elaborate a bit more? Why do you think that you feel this way?"


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: RENT and its characters do not belong to me.

Author's notes: Another chapter to make up for my lack of posting.

* * *

Roger entered the loft, after a long day of doing…absolutely nothing. He had done nothing, walking to Collins' to find him out, most likely teaching a class. He had done nothing while walking back to Alphabet City, taking the long route and watching a bunch of people doing whatever. And then he had done nothing, sitting in the Life Café for over an hour, nursing the one cup of coffee that he could afford until it was nothing more than the ice cold grains in the bottom of the mug. There was nothing to do when Mark wasn't around, which lately had been more and more frequently. In the month since the letter from Mimi, Mark had started spending long days outside of the loft, and Roger had no clue where he actually went.

Because that wasn't Roger's main concern. It was his secondary concern. His main concern was sorting out his feelings; the ones that were left over from the Mimi break-up, and the ones that were brought on by his talk with Collins when he and Mark were still fighting. The long walks of the day had been particularly helpful with that fact. He was actually ready to talk about them.

However, when he stepped into the loft his concerns were a bit more flip-flopped. Maybe it was time for him to start caring more about what Mark had been up to, because Mark was sitting underneath the table in the kitchen, staring into the living room.

At first Roger didn't see him, because he was under a table, but after a few moments of being in the loft, Roger saw that Mark was sitting under the table. Frowning, he started to remove his coat, and he tossed it onto the couch before going to the table and crouching down onto the ground in front of his friend. "So, are you comfortable or something?" Mark didn't answer, just continued staring ahead. "Mark? Hello? You OK in there?" He tapped a finger against Mark's forehead.

"What?" This is the action that got Mark's attention. His head turned and his eyes met Roger's.

"You're sitting under a table." Roger informed.

Mark glanced around, as though he hadn't noticed. "I guess I am."

"It's making you look like a bit of a jackass." But he didn't get a response out of the filmmaker. "So…what are you doing under the table?"

"Thinking." Mark shrugged.

Roger gave him a bit of a look at this. That hadn't been the answer he was expecting. He was expecting to hear that Mark had stolen some of Collin's pot and was contemplating the meaning of the crumbs. "Is the table like, feeding you good thought vibes or something?"

"What do you mean?"

"Uh, hello. You're under a table. It's not the normal place for long periods of thought. Or anything." Roger leaned himself back so he was actually sitting on the floor, and was actually slightly lower than Mark's level. "What are you thinking about down here?"

"Just stuff I guess."

Roger shook his head. He was getting nowhere, and he didn't know how to get anywhere. So he started to stand. "Well when I want to think about stuff I go up to the roof. The air helps. And people don't give me weird looks when I do it." Roger was walking away, thinking of the hopelessness of the situation when he heard Mark.

"I guess I'm just worried." Roger turned to see Mark getting out from under the table and hitting his head on the edge of the table. "Ow." He muttered.

Roger just laughed a little at his friends predicament before thinking back to where the conversation was going. Mark was actually about to talk to him. "Worried about what?"

Mark rubbed his head briefly. "Nothing. I'm worried about nothing. I was just thinking about my life."

"Everything's cool with you?" Roger's questions for Mark weren't great, but it was one of his first times being on the other side of the deep conversation. He thought that he was doing pretty good pulling from the conversations with Mark and Collins that he remembered.

"Yeah. You know that I've been doing fine ever since the whole fiasco we had." This was completely true, but it wasn't seeming as true, the way that Mark had been sitting under the table. "I just got a little scared. Nothing big…"

"Scared? About what?"

"About what's going to happen. With everything." Mark's answers were short and to the point. He didn't really want to elaborate on anything, but kept forcing himself to anyways.

"You mean with me. And Collins." Roger inferred. At the confirmatory look on Mark's face he was actually pretty proud of himself. He was getting this whole discussion thing now. "Uh…" Now he just had to figure out where to take it from there. "Come here." He grabbed Mark's elbow and brought him over to the couch, sitting them both on it. "I know that the situation sucks. And I know that it's always been a thing with you." Now he took a deep breath. "And I know what you told Collins. About me. I've known since our fight."

"What?"

Roger held up a hand to stop Mark from further questioning him. "I need you to just let me finish." He inhaled deeply again. "And I've been thinking about it…especially since the Mimi thing. I've come to the conclusion that I don't want you to have to have that one-sided relationship thing that Collins was talking about. And I don't want you to be scared." He paused. "I just want you to know that…I might be in love with you." Roger leaned over and gave Mark a gentle kiss, and then pulled back, watching the filmmakers reaction.

He was very unsure of himself. For the first time in his life he was very unsure about the relationship aspect of things. For the first time, his confession of love had been two things. The first of which was awkward, and not very poetic. The second, being that he really knew that he meant it. But after about a minute of silence he couldn't take it. "Mark, now what are you thinking?"

"That at the moment I'm not so scared." Mark waited a moment, but kissed Roger again. "And that, I might be in love with you." And they kissed again. "And that I might owe Collins a big thank you." And then they kissed a fourth time. "But I think that will have to wait."

* * *

OK, I know both chapters are kind of short, but I figured it's better than nothing, and it definitely got me back into writing this story so all is well that ends well. 


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: RENT and its characters do not belong to me.

Author's notes: Thank you reviewers. As always your reviews brighten my day.

* * *

Looking back on the past few weeks, Mark knew things were going well. He and Roger were together. They were happy, and getting closer than ever. Nothing that he could see was going to drive them apart.

Sure, there were a few things that Roger didn't know. He didn't know where Mark often disappeared to, and he never asked. Mark never volunteered the information, but that was for Roger's own good. If he knew about all of Mark's secrets, he would just be spending time worrying over things that he didn't need to be. So as long as Roger didn't find out about Mark's secrets, everything was going to stay fine.

And that was how Mark was planning on keeping things.

* * *

"That seems like an awful lot of bags for some AZT." Collins commented as Mark came out of the pharmacy, holding a few of the telltale white paper bags that told everyone he had just filled prescriptions. The two were out running errands on a warm fall day that they both had free, while Roger was out scouting clubs looking for guitarists, or bartenders. "Did Roger's meds change? He hasn't gotten anything has he?" The professor took immediate concern for the musician.

Mark shook his head, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with one hand. "No, Roger's fine."

"Then what's in all those bags?" Collins gestured a bit curiously. He counted them quickly in his head. There were three. He could justify one as Roger's AZT, but the others were a mystery to him.

"Just some stuff." Mark shrugged, and then readjusted his jacket, fumbling with the middle button. All of these things were habits of his. Adjusting his clothing always meant that he was nervous, and Collins could play right into that.

"Stuff for you?"

"What is this, an interview or something?" Mark started to slip the bags into his messenger bag. But Collins was too quick for him, and grabbed the bags out Mark's hands. "Hey!"

Collins just held them out of Mark's reach and started to open them, disregarding the first, that held Roger's AZT. "Prozac? Halcion?" He paused briefly, reading some more. "These are in your name. What's going on?"

Mark sighed a little as he finally was able to grab the bags out of Collins' hands. "They're in my name because they're mine. Now can we just drop this?" He started to walk back towards the loft, as though that might stop any questioning that Collins might continue.

"We've barely started." No such luck. "Why do you have prescriptions for that stuff?" Collins didn't get answer, from the filmmaker, who was still walking, quite intent on getting back to the loft. "Mark, you're not gonna get out of this by not answering."

Mark mumbled something that Collins couldn't understand, with his head hanging low and his eyes on his shoes.

"What was that?"

"My psychiatrist prescribed them." Mark repeated a bit louder. "I'm seeing this guy that the clinic recommended." He left it off in a silence for a moment and they turned the corner. He hadn't wanted to explain that much, so explaining things any further was pretty much out of the question. "It's really nothing, just some--."

"Whatever man." Collins held up his hands, as they started down the street. "I'm cool with it if you are." They continued to the loft in silence, neither one speaking again until they were inside. "So does Roger know about that stuff?"

They both knew that Collins was talking about the medication. Mark shook his head. "No. He doesn't need to. I'm fine."

Collins gave him a look of uncertainty as the three white bags were put on the kitchen table. "So you don't plan on telling him?"

"Is that a problem for you?"

"I just don't want to see you two get messed up over something like this. You're both really happy right now."

"It's not gonna get messed up."

"If you say so."

* * *

Mark barely looked away from editing his film, something he hadn't had much time to do lately, when the door to the loft opened and Roger entered. "Hey."

"Hey." Roger entered and walked over placing his guitar on the floor, briefly wrapping his arms around Mark's shoulders and planting a quick kiss on his temple. "What's up?"

"Nothing. I've just been editing since Collins left. How was the club hopping?"

Roger laughed a little at Mark's terminology. "Lots of clubs, none of them were 'hopping'." He mocked it just a little. " But I found somewhere crazy enough to let me bartend. And the hours are great, I'll still have plenty of time to work on my song."

"That's great." Mark returned the kiss to Roger's lips, tilting his head up. "My little working man."

"Yeah, you just keep thinking that it's work."

"Well I'm proud of you anyways."

"Can we cut this sentimental stuff? There isn't much to be proud of. Mixing Screwdrivers is not rocket science."

"Yeah." Mark turned his attention back to his equipment. "I have to work on this stuff anyways. Your AZT is on the kitchen table."

Roger went over to the table where three white bags sat. A few thoughts started to go through his head as he got closer, and then grabbed one. A glance at the label told him that it was not his AZT. It was Prozac. And it was Mark's. Then he grabbed another bottle. It was labeled as Mark's Halcion. "Mark?"

"Yeah?"

"What the hell is this stuff?"

Mark glanced over, and saw the two bottles that Roger was holding. "Oh shit." He muttered. "I…um…I…" He stammered and trailed off. "They're my…antidepressants, and…sleep medication." He stood and turned completely around, giving more attention to Roger and the situation.

"Anti-depress--." Roger cut himself off. "Sleep medic--." He did it again. "Mark what's going on?"

"I'm seeing someone." Mark started over, hoping that maybe he'd be able to keep Roger calm if he was closer. "A psychiatrist."

"You're seeing a shrink?" Roger asked a little incredulously.

Mark pushed his glasses up, even though they were in a perfectly respectable position. "Yeah."

"For how long?" Roger was trying really hard not to sound accusatory. He had sort of learned through Mimi that jumping to conclusions never helped a situation. It didn't change the fact that he was confused and unsure about the situation, and angry that he didn't have all the facts in the first place.

"Well…I guess that it's been two months." Mark sighed. "Around the Mimi break-up letter."

"Two months!" For a moment, he sounded as though he was going to start going off the handle, but Roger took a deep breath and then he spoke. "I thought you always said you didn't need to talk."

Mark could hear the tension in Roger's voice, and was trying to think of something that might calm him down, but couldn't find anything. "I was wrong I guess. He prescribed me this stuff the other day. He thinks that it'll help me."

"I didn't know you needed help."

"Well…neither did I. But…"

"How are you even paying for all of this!" Roger shook one of the pill bottles, starting to find it even harder to keep calm.

Here was the part that Mark himself really hated. It accounted for his disappearances during the days. "I went back to Buzzline. A little after I started going to this guy."

"So you got a job at a place that you've said makes you depressed, so you can pay for medication that's supposed to prevent you from being depressed? That makes perfect sense Mark." Roger stood, and started to leave.

"Roger…"Mark grabbed Roger's arm gently.

Roger shook his arm out of Mark's grip. "Mark...just don't." He ran a hand through his hair. "I'm gonna go stay at Collins' for a while. I'll be back…eventually." He turned to go to his room.

"Roger, don't leave."

"Why Mark? You don't need me around here."

"Yeah I do, Rog…"

"Well, you've got a great way of showing it." Roger spoke a bit more angrily, but was still not shouting, something he was pretty proud of himself for, he would reflect later. "I just need some time Mark. Just…stay away for a while."

* * *

Thoughts? 


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: RENT and its characters do not belong to me.

Author's notes: Thanks for the reviews. That's about it. Except that I am closing in on the end of this fic, because after I go as far as what I have planned, there really isn't anywhere else for me to take it.

_**Bold italics like this are sound effects, i.e. signifying that the answering machine beeped with out saying "The answering machine beeped."**_

_Italics like this are the messages on the machine.

* * *

_

Roger looked at the blinking red light of the answering machine, as he entered Collins' apartment for the first time in about four months. When he had first shown up at Collins' after walking out on Mark, they were in the apartment together for about three days before Collins left to teach two semesters in Maine. He had told Roger that he could stay at the apartment as long as he needed to, which is what Roger had intended. But this didn't last. Instead Roger found himself working his way across the country, where he stayed for a while, and then realized that he had to go back, so he worked his way back to the city, bringing him to where he was now. In Collins apartment, with an answering machine full of messages.

With a sigh, he placed his things on the floor and pressed the machine's button.

_**Beep**_

"_Roger, it's Joanne. I know you're staying there while Collins is out of town, and I know it's because of what happened with Mark. And I got the whole story. I'm not gonna tell you the whole thing, 'cause it's something that you need to hear from him, but you should just come back and listen to him. Don't turn this into one of your fights with Mimi."_

_**Beep**_

"_Roger, it's Joanne, again. I don't know what the hell you think you're accomplishing by not coming back here, or even talking to any of us but snap out of it. You aren't making the situation any better. Mark needs you. I don't care what kind of thoughts you've got stuck in that thick skull of yours. Mark needs you to be here for him. Now get your ass back to the loft."_

_**Beep**_

"_Hey Rog, it's Collins. Just thought I'd check in with you and see how things are going with everything. Have you made up with Mark yet? Things here in Maine are…damn cold. Seriously. It gets really cold up here. But the students, might actually get my theory. Yeah, I know, scary thoughts. OK, well call me back and fill me in. And if you don't call me back I'm assuming it's 'cause your already back across the city snuggling with Mark. Oh and Rog, if you haven't gone back to Mark yet, I understand. I figure everyone else is probably telling you to get your head out of your ass, so I thought I'd let you know that I get why you're upset."_

_**Beep**_

"_Roger Davis I swear to god if you don't get your head out of your ass I'm coming over there and murdering you in your sleep! Mark is completely screwed up without you. He's moody and silent, I swear it's like Joanne when she's PMSing. He isn't going to his therapy anymore and I think it's really messing with him. He won't talk to any of us, and he's not even filming anymore and it's all your fault! Oh yeah…this is Maureen."_

_**Beep**_

"_Roger, hey. It's Benny. I know that there's this thing between you and Mark right now, but I thought you should know that his dad came into the city. He went to the loft and tried to force Mark back to Scarsdale. Something he said got Mark real worked up and there was a fight…I got to the loft and Mark was getting the shit kicked out of him. I kicked his dad out, and brought him to the hospital. He's gonna be fine…he just has a broken collarbone and some broken ribs. I put everything on my insurance, so everything is covered, but I just thought you should know._

"_Look man. I didn't spend that much time with him or anything, but I think he's pretty messed up. It's kind of like he was right after the hold up. I know you think the thing to do is to just leave it alone, and you were right that time, so I'm respecting that, but I really think you should just come back over here and see what's going on."_

_**Beep**_

"_Yeah, so according to everyone you aren't back at the loft and now I'm starting to wonder what the hell is going through your head? Everyone gets the point. You're upset that you weren't kept informed. And I thought I got it, but you're dragging this out too far, man. From what everyone's told me, Mark is losing it. Get back there before things get any worse."_

_**Beep**_

"_Roger, I don't know where you are but come back. Mark is getting really bad. I don't know what's going on with him, because I hardly ever see him. His behavior is really erratic. I'm worried that he's gonna do something bad if he doesn't get help soon, and he's not letting us help him. Call me as soon as you get this message."_

_**Beep**_

"_Hey man, it's Benny again. I really think you need to get back here. Mark is in a real bad place. All of these charges for pain meds and sleeping pills are coming up on my insurance. I'm don't want to say that he's addicted or anything…I'd like to think that he knows better than that…but Allison isn't buying them, and I'm not, and Mark is acting a lot like you did back in your drug days. I'm worried that if he doesn't get help soon he's gonna get into a lot of trouble, and I think you're the only one that's gonna get through to him."_

_**Beep**_

The tape ended leaving Roger in a dumfounded silence. He hadn't known, and now he had the feeling that he had messed things up horribly. He had the feeling that he needed to find Mark, now.

* * *

Roger was really starting to regret the fact that he had somehow lost his key to the loft. He had gotten to the loft door to find it locked. He tried for about twenty minutes to get Mark to open the door, to no avail. He would have given up and gone back to Collins' until another day, figuring that Mark was out, but he had heard someone shuffling around in the loft.

Instead, he went downstairs, and got into Mimi's old apartment, still unoccupied, and unlocked. He went out the window and climbed up the fire escape until he was at the familiar windows of his loft, which were never locked. From there, it was easy to push a window open and for him to climb into the loft.

The first things that he noticed were the absolute mess and the biting cold. Even when they had six people living in the loft it hadn't been this messy. Mark had always seen to it that there was a semblance of organization. And he had always been meticulous about keeping something to heat the loft going.

"Mark? Mark, I know you're in here." He called out searching through the loft. First he ducked into Mark's room, and didn't find him. He also didn't receive an answer. "Mark?"

Then he ducked into his room, which proved to be a good idea. Sitting on his bed, pushing himself into a corner was Mark. And then he saw the way that Mark had his arm extended, with a belt wound tightly around the forearm, and a needle in his other hand.

* * *

It's a little short, but I wanted to end it there.

All of those voices mails were in order, but keep in mind they're spread out across the four months that Roger was gone.


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: RENT and its characters don't belong to me.

Author's notes: Thank you reviewers. I'm not really gonna explain it in the story, but a couple of you were curious as to why Collins said he understood, so I thought I'd explain it here. The way I see it, Collins is the type of guy who tries to see things from every angle, and I was trying to express that Roger wasn't completely alone in being upset about his boyfriend keeping something important from him. It was just to show that Collins could see where he was coming from. And I am **so **sorry about the delay. I'll try to be quicker.

* * *

Roger couldn't keep himself from freaking out. Of all the things he had imagined Mark doing while he was on his way over, catching him about to shoot up was not one of them. So he didn't think when he stormed further into the room, and ripped the needle from Mark's shaking hand.

"Roger?" Mark asked in a sudden surprise, glancing around in an almost confused manner.

Roger didn't respond. He continued to storm through the room, opening a window, emptying the needle of its contents into the street, then tossing the needle out. It wasn't the safest way to get rid of it, but as far as he was concerned anything was better than having the drugs in the loft. He then closed the window and continued over to Mark gripping his arm tightly, and bending down over it examining more closely. He breathed a little sigh of relief when he didn't see any track marks.

Mark jerked his arm back quickly. "Roger what the hell are you doing!"

"What the hell am I doing!" Roger echoed incredulously. "What the hell are you doing!" He started to pace the room. "I can't believe you of all people…You were going to shoot up Mark! You saw what the smack did to me. You know how dangerous it is. How can you even…Shit Mark, I don't believe this."

Roger continued to rant, as Mark reached into his pockets searching until he pulled out an orange bottle. He tried to open it, but his hands were trembling to badly. He didn't really hear all that Roger was saying, because he was too intent on opening the bottle. He knew that Roger was mad, but he couldn't focus on that; he needed something to help calm things down.

"Now what the hell are you trying to take?" Roger turned to see Mark fumbling with the prescription bottle. This too was ripped out of his hands. Roger read the label quickly. "These must be the painkillers Benny was talking about." He muttered underneath his breath, shoving the bottle into his pocket to keep it away from Mark until he could get rid of it properly. He knew what he had to do. "What else are you on?" Mark didn't answer him. "Mark tell me what other shit you're taking." Roger ran his hands angrily through his hair, which was a better option than pressing Mark up against the wall like he wanted to.

Mark put himself further onto the bed, pushing himself closer to the wall. "Just Halcion." He answered quietly.

"Where is it?" Roger asked carefully, trying to maintain his temper. He knew he had to get everything out of the loft first, so Mark couldn't do anything else. "Mark, where is it?" Mark still didn't answer. It took Roger a few deep breaths before he could try talking again. "Mark, if I'm going to help you need to let me get rid of everything."

"You can't." Mark shook his head.

Roger started to pace again. He wasn't about to let his friend off so easily. "I have to Mark, now tell me where you're keeping it!"

"You can't!" Mark started to fumble with the belt around his arm. "You don't understand Roger. I need that stuff!"

Roger heard Mark's voice straining. He was suddenly reminded of what he had once gone through, what he could remember in any case, and he softened a bit. He turned so that he once more was facing Mark, and started to take more notice of the way that Mark was shaking, and the sweat that was starting to cover him. He frowned. It had only been four months and Mark was already bad enough to have serious withdrawal. He sighed a little, and stepped forward so he was kneeling on the bed, starting towards Mark, who was backing away from him a bit, even though it was impossible to go further into the wall. "Mark, relax." He went back to keeping his voice even, and attempting to be soothing. "I just want to help you get that thing off."

Mark allowed his arm to be taken buy Roger, who started to remove the belt, with far more success than he had been having. It occurred to him that maybe this would be a good time to reason with Roger. "Roger, I need that stuff."

"Why Mark?" Roger put the belt aside, and let Mark remove his arm. He wanted an explanation now. The way he remembered, if he didn't get one now, Mark wouldn't be willing to talk until the worst of the withdrawal was over. "Why do you need that stuff?"

Mark leaned his head against the wall not looking at Roger as he started to rub his arm, that was starting to ache, up and down. "I don't know how to explain it. I just do."

"If you can't explain it then you don't need it."

"But I do! I just feel better with them."

"You felt fine when you were seeing that therapist guy. I remember, Mark. Things were great. We'll just get you clean and seeing him again."

"I can't see him again. Just give me those pills and I can be fine."

"Then we'll get you to a different doctor. But I'm not giving you these pills Mark."

"I'm not going back to any doctor."

"Why not? I know that I didn't know at the time or anything but that guy was helping you Mark. You were happier than I had seen you in along time."

"You hated that I was seeing him."

"I hated that I didn't know you were seeing him." Roger corrected. This was one of the realizations he had come to on his trip. "I hated that you didn't think you could tell me about it or whatever when we were getting so close. I couldn't actually hate something that was helping you." He wanted to comment on how he sounded like something out of one of the soap operas that Maureen and April used to watch together, but quickly decided that now wasn't the best time.

"Then give me back my--."

"Those aren't helping you." Roger cut him off knowing the request.

They were silent. Mark wasn't getting anywhere requesting his drugs back somewhat nicely, and Roger wasn't sure what he was supposed to tell his friend/boyfriend next about how everything was going to be fine and they were going to get him clean. He really didn't want to say more soap opera stuff so soon.

"I just didn't know who I could go to." Mark finally broke the silence after a few moments, looking down to his trembling hands. "Everything that was wrong with me seemed so small compared to what you guys have dealt with. I felt like I couldn't just go to you all with my problems."

Roger knew that by you all he meant everyone, but for some reason felt like it was directed more towards him. "You still could have told us you were going to talk to someone."

"You would have wanted to know why. And if you knew why then you would have been as messed up as I was feeling. And we couldn't have two nutcases living together."

"Why couldn't you tell me why?" At this point, Roger was a little nervous to find out, but he had already encountered enough things that he thought he would never have to deal with in this day, that he figured he could handle it.

"I went to therapist because I was really scared about getting the results of my HIV test. And I was getting tested because I realized that we weren't careful when you helped me with my hands."

"Fuck." Roger muttered. "Are you saying that I gave you--."

"No it came back negative. I have to go in for a few more checks to be sure, since it might not show up for awhile, but they're pretty sure I'm negative. But the whole thing scared me. So I went to that guy."

"Oh. Well. Good. That you're negative." Mark didn't answer , but it didn't really matter. Roger was ready with a plan. "Here's what's going to happen. I'm going to move back here. I'm gonna have Joanne get my stuff from Collins' place because I'm not going to be leaving this loft until you can leave the loft. And you're not leaving the loft until you're clean." He could vaguely remember Mark telling him words like this but it was just a flicker in his mind. "We're gonna get through this Mark." Mark nodded, though very unsurely. "We're gonna get through it Mark."

Instead of answering, Mark clenched his jaw and a fist that he pounded into the wall. "Shit this hurts."

"I know." Roger reached over and grabbed Mark's hands in sympathy. "You should try and get some sleep before it gets any worse."

Mark started to comply, fully intent on staying where he was, in Roger's bed. He stretched out laying his head on the pillow and clutching the other end of it tightly in one hand. "You're gonna stay?"

"Yeah. I'm gonna stay."


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: RENT and its characters do not belong to me.

Author's Notes: Well…this is the last chapter. I want to thank all reviewers very much. I apologize if the aquarium I use doesn't actually have some of the stuff I said, but the link to the website won't work on the computer I'm using.

_Italics are flashback.

* * *

_

Mark shook. When Roger went through withdrawal, he would scream and kick things. Mark would shake and cry. Mark had realized quickly that begging got him nowhere; Roger was not a pushover, and he was far stronger than Mark. Having a fit like Roger used to just wasn't an option and never occurred. Except for one time, about two weeks into everything.

_Roger turned the page of his magazine with a bit of a contented sigh. He had been home for two weeks, helping Mark. To him it seemed a bit easy. He couldn't remember much about his own withdrawal, other than the fact that he had been miserable, but Collins had relayed some of the stories of what he had done. What was happening with Mark, wasn't what had been described. Mark wasn't throwing tantrums among other things…Mark was currently sitting under the kitchen table again, refusing to be touched. That was one of his things. There were periods where he would cling to Roger as though his life depended on it, and then he would shove Roger away and refuse to even talk to him. Roger did his best not to care; he knew the attitude wasn't really Mark. Besides… they were two weeks in and things were already starting to look up in terms of the behavior. Roger was starting to think that he was wrong in assuming how seriously Mark had been addicted._

_And then Roger got hit in the head. With a book. It fell into his lap and the title appeared to him. The Complete Kama Sutra. That was definitely Maureen's book. Which could only mean one thing since the door was locked. _

"_Mark?" He closed the magazine and stood to turn. Mark was standing by the door to his room, looking rather upset. Roger's first hint was the book that was thrown at his head. His second hit was the way that Mark was now throwing a shoe at him. This time Roger was prepared, and he knocked it out of the way with his hand before hurrying over. _

_Mark didn't have anything else to throw at Roger. Instead, when Roger started coming at him, he started going to Roger, charging into him, and pounding his fists against his chest._

_For a moment, Roger just let Mark hit him. It let Mark get things out, and it wasn't exactly hurting either of them. But after the brief moment of allowing the violence, Roger used his hands to grab Mark's fists, holding them together and lowering them a bit._

_It was this action that caused Mark to have a switch in emotion. He stared at Roger as his fists were lowered, and then he started to cry, his head going forward and falling into Roger's chest._

_Roger was slightly taken aback by this entire episode, but he did his best to maintain control. He slowly lowered himself so he was sitting on the floor, bringing Mark with him, and shifted so that he was no longer holding Mark's hands, but holding Mark against him, murmuring soothing things into his ear. _

"_You weren't under the table with me." Mark announced after a minute of this behavior. He didn't move his head, so his voice was muffled by Roger's chest, and the crying._

"_I didn't know you wanted me there."_

"_I want you there when I'm under the table."_

"_I'll come with you next time Mark."_

_Mark pulled back and wiped his face a bit, the emotional roller coaster ride coming back to the beginning. He was starting to become somewhat rational once more. "I'm sorry that I threw that stuff at you."_

"_It's OK." Roger hugged him again. _

"_It would have just been two shoes. But I couldn't find the other one. My shit isn't very organized right now." And he put his head back down onto Roger's chest, content on sitting there._

But that had been one time. And now things were finally good again. Mark was clean, and all the symptoms of withdrawal had finally left him. So today it was time for a celebration.

Roger had taken his leftover money from his cross country trip and brought Mark to Brooklyn, to the aquarium. It wasn't his scene, but Mark got a kick out of that type of thing, and this day was for Mark so it didn't matter to him. As it all turned out, it had been fun. Mark had developed a particular obsession with the penguins. They had probably spent at least 45 minutes, just watching the penguins, play in the water. Although Roger didn't understand it, he had to admit that the smile they brought to Mark's face was something that he hadn't seen in a long time. And they had both gotten amusement out of the fact that one employee had explained to them that one of the male penguins, named Roger, was desperately trying to mate with any penguin that came near him.

Which brought them to where they were now. Getting ready to go back home, with Roger exiting the gift shop, holding something behind his back as he went to meet Mark.

"What did you do in there?" Mark asked as Roger came up.

"I wanted to get you this." Roger pulled out a small stuffed penguin. Mark took it in his hands. "I know that it's kind of dumb, but it seemed like the kind of thing you would get a laugh out of and I just wanted to get you something…I'm really proud of you." The withdrawal had been good at improving his soap opera moment skills.

"Thanks." Mark smiled a bit, thumbing at the penguin. "I think I'll have to name him Roger."

"That's real cute Mark." Roger wrapped his hands around Mark's waist, bringing him in closer, a contact that they were both used to now. "But if you think that's gonna make me let you bring him into bed with us you're wrong. I draw the line at the scarf."

* * *

OK, so that's the end. Thoughts? 


End file.
